


You better come back to me, Billy Russo.

by Artemisausten



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Billy kind of likes to hear you beg?, Billy's not good at being vulnerable, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair-pulling, Hickeys, I mean most of this is just about the smut okay, Implied Masturbation, Mild Smut, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strip Tease, brief mentions of Billy nearly being raped as a kid but nothing detailed or graphic, brief mentions of violence and character death, deals a little with Frank's family getting killed, he also jokes about spanking you, it's basically just me writing more and more porn, sex against a wall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemisausten/pseuds/Artemisausten
Summary: Billy's about to leave and you've only just fully realized that as a Marine, there's always a chance that he might not come home to you. When you confront him about it, Billy decides to distract you.Reader imagine based on a tumblr prompt:Hello there! Can I request Billy Russo x reader angsty-fluffy fic? You can add smut too if you want, I don’t mind at all... Because BEN BARNES am I right? lmao, thank you!
Relationships: Billy Russo & Reader, Billy Russo/Reader
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

The sheets are gone and the room is dark, and your eyes are closed as you try not to think about all the terrifying possibilities that are running through your mind.

_ What would you do if I didn’t come back? _

You’d scoffed at the question when Billy asked it at breakfast a couple days ago, nearly spitting your cereal from your mouth as you rolled your eyes. You’d been preparing for his leaving for the first time since you got together, to somewhere he can’t really talk about it and to do something he couldn’t really explain to you. You’d thought it sounded so sexy at first, deliciously mysterious and full of intrigue. You’d imagined Billy as someone dangerous, a bad boy who would go off somewhere and spy or rescue people in danger. He would smooth his dark hair back, flash those perfect brown eyes dangerously, and give someone that irreverent grin before saying something witty and blowing something up.

It was all so romantic when you imagined it, like a movie.

It wasn’t until you were at dinner with a friend that night that someone had asked how you were handling Billy’s leaving and you brushed it off like it was no big deal—you can get through a few months without him.

“You’re not worried that he could get hurt?”

You snorted and took another bite of your pasta, wishing she’d put a little more sauce on the batch. “This is Billy Russo we’re talking about—a beautiful, badass Marine. Nothing’s going to happen to him.”

“That’s what Jodie said about her husband,” your friend said as she shook her head, her salad untouched on her fork as she gazed at you. “And he came home in a box. This is serious, Y/N. You need to think about this.”

“Jodie?” You lost your appetite as you looked at your friend, remembering Jodie. 

Jodie, who you’d grown up with. Jodie, who had married a Green Beret. Jodie, whose husband had always seemed indestructible, 250 pounds of solid muscle and a gaze that you’d seen make grown men quake where they stood. 

Jodie, who had spent the last year struggling to find a new normal after learning that her husband had been killed in action.

You tried to imagine Billy side by side with Jodie’s husband, dwarfed by the beefy muscle of Jodie’s husband and filled with the cocky sort of confidence that you’d always found disgustingly irresistible. Jodie’s husband always made a point about how careful he had to be when he worked. Billy liked your image of him as a sarcastic wiseass who charges into trouble and saves the day.

That was when it hit you what it meant to be in a relationship with Billy Russo.

“You can’t leave, you have to quit.” 

Billy gave you the most amused look you’d ever seen on his face. You were supposed to be going out to dinner with him—a celebratory dinner for the two of you moving in together before he had to go. You’d just exchanged keys the other night and started packing, and after dinner he was going to help you move your things into his place. And then, Billy thought, he was going to spend the entire night ravishing you and giving you all sorts of memories to keep you company while he was away.

And, he mentally added, a few choice ones for him as well.

Billy sighed and straightened his tie, each mannerism dramatic as he shook his head. “If this is about the sex, Y/N, I already promised to stop seeing all the women.” 

It took you a second to process what he was saying, distracted by your own worry and the sight of Billy in a suit. He’d chosen that suit specifically because he knew you’d like it, that the sight of him in a suit always made you pause and drag your eyes over him. “This isn’t about the— _ what other women _ ?”

Billy grinned at your narrowed eyes as you pointed a threatening finger at him. There weren’t any other women, of course. Not since you. But he couldn’t resist the chance to tease you, especially when you looked so worried. “I didn’t tell you about all my other women?”

You scowled at him, taking a heavy step forward and slamming a closed fist into his arm. Billy at least had the good grace to pretend that you hurt him more than you actually had, rubbing at his arm where your fist made contact. “Ow, Y/N.” His voice sounded pained, although you knew it was an act. “That hurt.”

“That’s not funny,” you insisted. “I’m trying to be serious. You can’t go, you have to quit.”

He was ready to make another joke at your expense, but at the serious look on your face, he stopped himself. He took a step forward, reaching out for you and pulling you closer to him, his hands closed around your arms for a few seconds before moving up and down them in a long, soothing motion. “Okay, fine. Telling me what’s going on.”

“What’s going on?” You wanted to punch him again as he acted so—so—nonchalant. There you were, worried for his safety, wondering if you would ever see him again after he left, and he was making jokes. “ _ What would you do if I didn’t come back? _ ” Your voice was hysterical when you quoted the question back to him and Billy immediately scowled. “What the hell kind of question is that? What am I supposed to do with that, Billy? What do you mean,  **_if_ ** _ you didn’t come back _ ?”

Billy looked away from you, his lips pursed, and ran his eyes over the freshly bare walls of his apartment. He’d spent the last few days cleaning and rearranging so you could bring your things in. He had even cleared the walls so you could put up your pictures. You were the first good thing that had happened to him since he joined the Marines, since he’d become friends with Frank and been adopted as ‘Uncle Billy’ by his family. He didn’t want this to get fucked up. He didn’t want to fuck this up, either. “It was just a question,” he responded reluctantly. “To...prepare you.”

“To prepare me? Prepare me for what? You not coming back? You’re coming back, Billy. You’re not allowed to leave if you can’t come back.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so authoritative, even as you jabbed a finger into his shoulder. Billy growled at it when you actually knocked him backward a step, annoyed with the motion and frustrated with your reaction. “You have to quit. That’s all there is to it.”

Billy’s face was deathly serious when he met your gaze, his voice low and sharp enough to let you know that he wouldn’t change his mind. “I’m  _ not  _ quitting.”

“You’re not going.” You looked away from him, taking a step backward, needing some distance from Billy and his suit and his perfect hair, the scent of sandalwood and aftershave that lingered on him and would seep into your clothes the longer you were around him. The first time you’d been out with Billy and you realized that the smell of him had lingered there, you’d held your jacket in your hands and just inhaled the scent. “You’re not going if you’re not coming back.”

The idea of it was too much to consider, you thought. It just wasn’t a possibility. It just wasn’t.

Billy wasn’t a fool—he’d known the minute he joined the Marines that it was possible he might die in the service. At the time, it really hadn’t mattered to him. He didn’t have anyone back home who would miss him and he was looking for something in the military that he’d never found anywhere else. Family, he’d thought. Somewhere to belong. He’d found that with you, too, although you hadn’t realized exactly what it meant to be with a Marine. 

And he had considered, for a long time, not warning you of the possibility that he might not come home. Maybe he was being selfish, but he thought it might drive you away. He still thought that it would, and he considered that it really was selfish to comfort you and tell you that it would all be okay and nothing bad would happen, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t let you leave, not when he’d finally found something that mattered to him like this.

“Look,” Billy said, closing the distance between you two and cupping his hand under your chin so you looked at him. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going. We probably won’t even see any action.” He’d known that was a lie—he and Frank were going to do some dark, dark things in some very dark places. “And then I’ll come home and we’ll move somewhere else.” He grinned then to dispel the tension and the fear on your face. “Somewhere we can have a bigger bed.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, unable to let go of your fear. You didn’t want to believe Billy then, you didn’t want to listen to him. You didn’t want to trust that he was being honest with you. But you didn’t have the heart to doubt him, either, and you didn’t have the strength to walk away. “I don’t want to go to dinner anymore.”

You felt so small and helpless, and your stomach was twisting with anxiety, that you thought you never wanted to eat any food again. 

Billy refused to give up, however. He gave you his most charming smile, the one you’ve never been able to resist, and leaned in to kiss you, his lips demanding against yours. The kiss leaves you a little breathless when he pauses to murmur against your mouth. “Then maybe we should just stay in.”

You didn’t want to do it—you didn’t want to give in and let him distract you. You didn’t want to let go of your anger and fear. You didn’t want him to kiss you. “Billy—” You meant to protest, you really did, but then you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Billy knew what he was doing. He knew the spot on your neck that he could kiss and make your pulse race, lips sucking gently enough to leave a mark that would make you scowl but that he loved to see. He knew he could tip your head back, letting his hand get caught in your hair and giving it the tiniest little tug to keep it back so he had better access to your neck and your collar, nipping and sucking further downward. He knew your breathing would get heavy and your eyes would drift half-closed as he pushed back toward a wall, letting you slam into it with a  _ thud _ that knocked the air from your lungs. He knew he could pin you there, pressing his hips into yours and grinding his cock against you, and you would hum something incoherent and swallow against a dry throat and angle your body to feel more of him. Billy worked with a careful precision, knowing exactly what would draw you in and what would make you forget.

And he really, really wanted you to forget. 

“Don’t move.” He spoke the command against your collarbone, voice low and husky as he still pinned your lower body in place with his own. You couldn’t protest if you wanted to when he let go of your hair and trailed his open mouth lower, crouching as he moved and leaving hot, wet spots over your shirt. He looked up at you as he shifted, watching your back arch for him to give him better access to your body, your arms to the side as if he’d held them there. He reached for the hem of your shirt and slid it aside, tugging it upward so he could kiss your bare stomach, his tongue dragging over it in a long motion that moved toward your lower ribs as you pushed your hips outward. You took fast, shallow breaths as he stopped near the underside of your breasts, his nose tickling just below the line of your bra. He paused there for a long moment, letting his mouth just linger there, and traced a hand up the other side of your body, over your ribs until he cupped your breast through your bra and felt the curves underneath it. 

You wished that he would just take it off, that he would touch your bare skin and take your nipple in his mouth and taste you there. You didn’t realize that you’d whispered it, a barely audible plea for more.  _ Please, Billy. _

He chuckled against your skin, his beard scraping the sensitive skin of your ribs as his face pressed against your breast. “What was that, Y/N?” Billy squeezed your breast through your bra, fingering your hard nipple through the thin material as you let out a small whine and pushed your chest out. You hated that the material was there, that you couldn’t feel his hand directly on you and the full heat of his touch. You wanted to feel the calluses on his hands as they touched you, his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple and scraping over your skin.

“Y/N?” Billy’s voice was taunting as he prompted you for what he wanted to hear. He let his tongue edge over the bare skin beneath your bra, satisfied when your stomach fluttered at the new contact. You whined. “What did you say, Y/N?”

“Please.” It was more like a whimper than a question, your voice tiny and pathetic and barely louder than the sounds of you breathing.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you, Y/N?” He slid his hand under your bra then, giving you the contact you so desperately wanted as he squeezed and massaged your breast, teasing your peaked nipple roughly with his thumb. He pressed his face into your other breast over your bra cup, teasing his mouth over the nipple underneath as you took small, squeaking breaths and waited for more. 

_ More, more, more _ .

“Should I give you something to remember while I’m away?” His voice was muffled against your bra, but it didn’t matter—you would have heard those words from a mile away when Billy said them.

You had to force the word out to respond at all, lost in the way Billy was touching you and all the ways that you wanted him to touch you. “Yes.” Vaguely, you remembered that this was not the way the conversation was supposed to go, that you were mad at him and determined to make him quit the Marines. But it wasn’t going to happen and deep down you’d known that, and you didn’t want to leave Billy, and you didn’t want to think about what  _ might _ happen to him, and you just wanted to be with him. You just wanted him to hold you, to touch you, to know that he was yours and you were his no matter what. For Billy, that often meant sex.

You couldn’t really complain—it had often meant sex for you, too.

Billy was actually reluctant to pull away from your breast, your shirt and bra now moist with his saliva and your skin prickling in little goosebumps from where his mouth and tongue had touched you, but he had plans for something even better. He listened to the sound of you whimpering when his hand left your bra, amused at the way you pushed away from the wall to try and lead him to touch you in the places you wanted. He delighted in the sound of your awkward, unsteady breaths as he drew away from you and you watched him, eyes hazy with lust and body trembling with anticipation. He was careful to keep your gaze as he reached for the waist of your jeans, taking care to unbutton and unzip them with slow motions that drew out your anticipation as long as he could. He took an eternity to hook his fingers in your pants and began to slide them down, his hands open and smoothing over your legs with every move until he lifted one, then the other, to slide your pants and shoes off in one fluid motion. He sat before you on his knees, hands circling back up your thighs as you watched him with shaky breaths, before teasing his fingers up the inside of your thighs toward your panties. He noted the dampness he found there with a dark smirk, saw you bite your lower lip to stop the noise from escaping you as he ran a finger over the crotch of your panties and pressed them inward just enough to tease the sensitive flesh underneath. He thought that perhaps this was his favorite moment of being with you like this, those few seconds before he finally started to touch you when you were halfway there with the sheer excitement of what he was going to do and he could do just about anything he wanted with you. He pushed the crotch of your panties aside and let one finger, then two, just graze over the slick folds of your pussy before pushing inside you slowly.

Your head fell back against the wall as you let out a heavy breath that you didn’t realize you were holding when you felt his fingers inside you. Dimly, you thought that you weren’t sure you had the strength to keep yourself balanced while he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, curling and uncurling, exploring your pussy for each spot that could make you moan and squirm and cry in response. Billy thought that he could probably get off just watching you like that, just hearing the sounds that you make and feeling your body tense and relax against him. He carefully held the crotch of your panties aside and leaned forward to hook one of your legs over his shoulder, lifting your body just a little. Your eyes were opening to look down and see what he was doing when you felt his mouth on your pussy, his tongue moving with his fingers for a second before his mouth came to rest at your clit and settled there. The half-empty apartment felt almost deserted with so many of Billy’s things moved to clear space for you, but the noises you started to make filled in the empty space and then some. You didn’t know you could be that loud as Billy licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers unrelenting inside of you. You didn’t know that you could sound the way that you did, whimpers and moans mixing in with words you barely registered saying.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Please. More. Billy. More. More. _

Billy was more than happy to comply, always willing to push you a little harder. His movements were rough inside you, his mouth desperate against your clit, as if bringing you to the edge was as urgent as breathing in that moment. He wanted you to cum for him, he wanted to watch you when you did. He wanted to be the one who could bring this point, when you became a ruinous mess that belonged only to him, begging him for more and screaming his name—just not yet.

You gasped when he pulled away, his fingers and mouth leaving you abruptly as you nearly fell to the floor on limp legs. Billy caught you—he always would, he realized then—and pressed you back against the wall until he knew you were stable. All the smirks and grins were gone by that point as Billy gazed at you. All that was left was a dark hunger, a primal need driving him as he forced himself to back away long enough that he could strip. The suit and tie that Billy had so carefully chosen earlier that day were abandoned and wrinkled somewhere in the half-empty living room, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was nothing to hold him back now, his long length hard and free as he reached down and stroked himself. His gaze nearly held you in place as you stood against the wall, but you had the presence of mind when you saw him like that to pull your shirt over your head and discard your bra and panties, now drenched with your arousal. It was a strangely intimate moment when you stood there and gazed at each other, in a way that had nothing to do with sex or nudity. 

It was more about a shared vulnerability. Two people, both terrified, both bared for the other to see every trace of desire and thinly hidden fear. Sex is always a poor coping mechanism for dealing with the bigger things that happen in life, like being afraid that someone you love is going to die or that you might not come home to them, but it was what you and Billy had. You could tell as you gazed at each other that it was about the things that neither of you could bring yourself to face. 

It was about the possibility that you might have to face it in the future.

You were so wet when Billy finally came forward and lifted you against him, cupping his hands under your thighs and propping you against the wall, that Billy moaned when his cock pushed inside you. He thrust hard against you as you wrapped your legs around him, the impact of it slamming you back against the wall again. There was no holding back as Billy took you there, each slam of his hips against yours driving his cock fully inside you with a force that left you gasping. It didn’t matter that you had marks on your neck from where he’d kissed earlier or that you’d come away from this sore and bruised. You just wanted more of Billy. You wanted him to go faster, for his movements to be harder as he buried himself inside of you over and over again. You wanted him to claim you in every way that he could.

Billy just wanted to make sure that you remembered him, that you would remember this—the way that he touched you, the way he could undo you completely. If anything should happen to him, Billy wanted you to know that he belonged to you and only you in those moments. You were the only person Billy truly let in.

He made sure to watch for the moment when he felt your pussy start to clench around him, when your toes curled and your body taut, and you couldn’t even moan from the force of the orgasm washing over you. He made sure to see the second your body tipped over the edge and tried to memorize every little detail of it. He wanted to hold onto it, to take it with him into whatever hell he was going into. He wanted to keep that little piece of you with him, no matter what came next.

It was that moment that drove him over the edge, too. It was stupid, he thought, to finish so quickly. Like he was some horny teenager who’d barely been with a woman before. Billy could have laughed at himself if he thought about it too closely. It was seeing you cum that did it for him, though. That look of pleasure and oblivion on your face. He’d stilled inside of you, moaning as he pressed your body into the wall with his own, as if the two of you could become one person, and he spilled inside you. You gazed at each other for a while before he finally moved to pull out of you and ease your body to the floor.

You made it to the bedroom at some point during the night, you’re not sure when.

And now there you are, lying there next to Billy, still naked and vulnerable as you watch him sleep. You still don’t want to think about all the possibilities, all the terrible things that might keep you apart once Billy leaves for his tour. You trust him enough to recognize that he knows what he’s doing, that he knows how to fight and how to survive, that he  _ can _ make it back to you...but you’re terrified that he won’t. You’re terrified, to the deepest part of your being, that you’ll wave to him as he gets on that bus and he’ll gradually fade away into the distance and that will be the end of the two of you together. The life you shared will be barely more than the blink of an eye, snuffed out as quickly as it came into being.

You try to keep your breathing steady and your hands from shaking as you shift on the bed, climbing closer to Billy, and wrap your arms around his waist. You press a small kiss to his chest, letting it linger there with a tenderness you’ve only begun to show since Billy has come into your life. You can hear the fear in your own voice when you whisper into the darkness of the bedroom, “You better come back to me, Billy Russo.”

Billy keeps breathing slow and steady so you don’t realize that he’s awake and that he heard you. He doesn’t want you to know how scared he is of leaving and how much he’s determined to come back to you, no matter the cost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has officially been, like, a smutty series. I don't know. Find me on tumblr @artemisausten

Your hands don’t belong to you. Or at least, you wish they didn’t. You wish that as they move over your body, drifting between your legs that spread in invitation, your hands were Billy’s hands. You’ve thought about it almost every night since he left, imagining that he was still with you in bed and he would hold you and whisper things in your ear. Sometimes, they would be sweet little nothings, and sometimes they would be filthy reminders of all the ways he wanted to take you and what he wanted you to do. He’d certainly given you plenty of material to work from when he left.

“I hate this,” you’d whispered to him that last night, lying on your stomach as you clutched the pillow underneath you and refused to look at him. Billy had run a hand down your back, smoothing over the delicate curves of your hips and resting there.

“I don’t,” Billy replied easily, leaning forward to kiss the small of your back in an open mouthed move, letting his tongue brush over your skin and leaving a warm, wet spot behind. 

“ _Billy_.” You looked back at him with a stern expression that was greatly tempered by the way he touched you. 

He feigned surprise when he looked up at you. “Were we not talking about your body?” He moved his hand again in a long, lazy motion over the base of your spine, moving toward the curve of your ass and smoothing over the side closer to him. “This part right here? I like this part.”

You snorted at the fake innocence on his face, all wide eyes and mouth pulled back and jaw slack. “You’re so full of shit, Billy.”

That look of innocent surprise got even more dramatic as he looked up at you, hand never pausing as it moved toward your thigh and eased it’s way inward. “Me? _I’m_ full of shit? Really?”

You felt yourself smile despite your anxiety about Billy leaving in the morning. “Really.”

That innocent surprise turned to something a little darker the closer his hand moved to your pussy, teasing a little closer and then drifting back away again. “You know, Y/N,” Billy started, his voice still casual despite that dark look in his eyes. “Those are fighting words. You better be prepared for the consequences if you say something like that.”

“Consequences?” You drawled, eyes brightening with mischief as you gazed at him. “What kind of consequences?”

That hand drifted from between your thighs back to your ass, squeezing and caressing a particular spot as he refused to break your gaze. “I might have to spank you.”

You wanted to enjoy it, you really did, but you couldn’t push away the feeling of dread as you mentally tallied how long Billy had before he was going to leave. “I’m going to miss you."

That look on his face faltered for only a second, the only sign that he was thinking about leaving, too, and that the idea of how much he would miss you was on his mind. He covered it quickly, though, mouth curling up into a hungry grin as he shifted on the bed, climbing on top of you and dragging his cock over your leg slowly before he settled between your thighs. “Then I guess I should make this last as long as I can.”

You honestly didn’t know how Billy had the energy to leave the next morning, he’d kept you up so long that night, but he had. He’d hefted his heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder, given you a look that said he had no doubts about your relationship or whether everything would be okay, and then kissed you hard enough to steal your breath. “Have I told you,” Billy said in a low voice that only you could hear, “how much I love it when you look like you’ll be lost without me?”

You’d narrowed your eyes in an almost glare, not able to bring yourself to really mean it when any second Billy would be leaving. “You’re still full of shit, Billy Russo.”

He gave you that cocky grin of his, the one you tried to memorize as you gazed at him. If this was going to be your last memory of being with him, you wanted to remember him like that—confident and handsome and perfect. “Now, what did I tell you about that kind of talk?”

You met his grin with one of your own. “You can’t very well spank me right here, _in public_ , can you?”

“Maybe we should find out,” Billy teased quietly, closing the small bit of distance between you as the cool winter air nipped at your face and hands. He brought his mouth close to yours, lips pulled into that grin as he spoke against them. “Would you like that, Y/N? Should I spank you right here?”

You knew that Billy was trying to get to you, to make you blush and get all flustered in response, but you weren’t going to let him—not now, you thought, not today. “Do you have the time?”

“I can _make_ the time,” Billy promised, emphasizing his determination by reaching around and giving your ass a little squeeze. He was satisfied when you squealed in surprise, drawing the attention of a few of the other people waiting for the bus and laughing at the annoyed look on your face as you refused to meet anyone else’s gaze.

“I’m going to get you back for that, Billy,” you threatened just as the call to get on the bus rang out. You looked at the bus distantly, concern written on your face, then turned back to Billy and his thoroughly unconcerned expression.

“Not likely,” he said as he started to take a few steps backward, not turning from you until he absolutely had to. “But I’m looking forward to you trying.” He turned to leave, but stopped just before he got on the bus and looked back at you. “Oh, and if my other girlfriends call, will you tell them I’m busy?”

Those were the last words you said to Billy, the last time you saw him. You were supposed to have a video call with him at one point—everyone at the base they were staying at was supposed to be able to make a call home—but something had happened and Billy hadn’t shown up.

You aren’t sure where he is now. You aren’t sure what he’s doing. You only know that you miss him and you wish he was home already, because nothing you can imagine or remember about him could possibly compare to having the real Billy Russo by your side.

When you do finally see him again, it’s a surprise. You’re coming home from work to the apartment you both share, or that you _will_ share once Billy finally gets home. You drop your bag and keys by the inside of the door, slipping out of your shoes in desperation after spending so many hours on your feet, and walk through the small front hallway toward the couch. You don’t know that Billy is back and hiding just inside the living room until you feel a sharp slap on the ass and you let out a full bellied scream and jump further into the room in terror. When you finally turn to see Billy standing there, laughing, holding his hands up as if he surrenders, you’re ready to kill him for scaring you.

“ _Goddamn it, Billy Russo_ .” You jump forward and give him a light shove toward the wall, the only thing you can think to do in your frustration short of actually _hurting_ him for scaring you so badly, as he laughs. “It’s **_not_ ** funny.” 

“I’m sorry.” Billy can’t stop laughing as you glare at him, eyes narrowed into the most angry look he’s ever seen on your face before. The truth is, he’s so relieved to be back with you that most of the laughter is uncontrollable—just a hysterical result of his own joy. He’ll never tell you about all the moments when he really wasn’t sure he would be coming back and he mentally said his goodbyes to you, wishing that he could’ve just seen you or held you and heard you say his name one more time. Even if you spend the rest of your life mad at him, Billy thinks in that moment that he doesn’t care because he still made it back to you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just playing. I really didn’t mean to scare you."

You feel some of your anger melt away at Billy’s apology, but not all of it. Certainly not enough of it to let him off too easy, at least. “Fine.”

Billy takes a step toward you, trying to diffuse some of your lingering anger as he gestures around the apartment. “Looks like you’ve really made yourself at home.”

“Well,” you start, your voice sharp and your expression a little sour. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Billy’s been walking toward you, pausing only a step away and moving to reach out for you. He touches your shoulders gently, playing with the neck of your shirt near your shoulder with one of his hands as he leans in like he’s going to kiss you. “Did you miss me?”

You’re just mad enough at Billy, and just happy enough that he’s home, that you can’t help yourself when you reply. “The truth?” You make your voice small and sad, telling yourself that it’s only an exaggeration of how you felt rather than an accurate depiction of your absolute loneliness and anxiety. “I missed you so much I could barely get out of bed sometimes.” You see a flash of something like joy, and then maybe guilt, on his face before he covers it quickly. “But then one of your other girlfriends called, and she came over and kept me company instead. We got to be **_very_ ** close.”

As much as he teases you with it, Billy doesn’t have any other girlfriends. Not that he hasn’t juggled multiple women before, of course, but he hasn’t wanted anyone else since being with you, and he’s certainly made sure all the other women knew that. So, of course he knows that you’re lying as a way to tease him...even if the idea does intrigue him a little. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Y/N. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Billy Russo,” you say casually, shrugging his hand off the shoulder of your shirt and giving him your best unimpressed look, which is quite unimpressive, as it happens.

“No kidding?” Billy plays along. “Well, maybe we should invite her over, see if she wants to join us. What do you think?”

“I think—” You don’t get to finish before you realize that Billy has casually reached around you, stealing your cell phone from your pocket so he can browse your contacts list. “Hey!”

“Which girlfriend did you say it was? Shelly? Or maybe it was Crissie—”

“Don’t you dare—” You make a quick jump for the phone to try and steal it away from Billy, but he’s too fast for you. He pulls it away quickly, taking a step back from you as you nearly stumble forward. You’re about to fall flat on your face when Billy manages to catch you, holding onto your arm and dragging you against him so his tall, lean body stabilizes you and you’re both gazing at each other—the closest you’ve been to Billy in months. 

You’d forgotten what it was like to have him pressed against you like that, you realize. The room starts to feel smaller as the two of you just stand there, pressed against each other, warm and quiet and in no hurry to do anything except share that space for a while.

Billy’s the one who breaks the silence, eyes fixed on yours as he swallows and runs his tongue over his lips. He leans in to press his forehead against yours, his long bangs falling loose and framing his face against you as your phone is forgotten. “Didn’t I say something about lying to me?”

You find that you’re actually reluctant to reply. You don’t want to break the moment, as perfect as it is. You just want to stay there in Billy’s arms and feel him against you. You just want him to keep looking at you like that, as if you’re the best thing he’s seen in his entire life and he didn’t know that something as beautiful and perfect as you existed until now. “No.” You pause to remind yourself to breathe. “You said that if I told you that you were full of shit again, I’d have to be ready to face the consequences.”

Billy slowly starts to grin, finally breaking your gaze as his eyes start to drift close and he remembers. “Oh, that’s right. I remember now.” He chuckles a little, his breath hot against your face. “Good thing for you that you’ve changed your mind about that, I guess.”

You recognize the bait when you see it, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that Billy is hoping you’ll take it. As if, you think, you could possibly say no to him right now. “Oh, I still think you’re full of shit, Billy Russo.” Billy’s eyes are full of delight when you say it. You can feel your own delight in anticipation of what Billy might do. “In fact, you’re even more full of shit now than you were before you left.”

“Am I really?”

“Oh,” you tease him, trying to make your face look serious, “you definitely are.”

“Well, maybe I need to just turn you over that couch and have my way with you,” Billy drawls, moving to grip either side of your waist and giving it a squeeze as he pulls you against him. You feel his cock pressing against you in his jeans, feeling your body respond to it immediately after so long apart from him. 

“Maybe you should.”

It’s almost a dance as you and Billy move steadily through the room, Billy leading you back as you both inch toward the couch in carefully choreographed steps and the two of you gaze at each other. It doesn’t take long before you feel yourself bump against the back of the couch, your body pressing into Billy’s as his hands start to slip under the hem of your shirt. It’s the first real touch of Billy’s against your bare skin in months and you’re surprised at how it feels—heated, electric, and somehow just _right_. God, how you’ve missed that touch. You want to feel it everywhere, you think. You want to feel him touching you all over, to just watch as Billy leans you back and explores every part of you with his hands. You don’t even wait for Billy to start trying to undress you, instead rushing to grab at your shirt with shaking hands, fingers trembling as they tug at the thin cotton t-shirt you chose that morning. You’re working at your bra, desperate to get free from it, as Billy watches in amusement and fascination.

“What are you doing?” Billy is almost laughing as he watches you angling your hands behind your back, trying to work the clasps—the goddamn clasps, you think, always coming undone at the most inopportune moments and then getting stuck at times like this. You don’t even care that Billy has the biggest grin on his face as he watches you, hands still on your waist even though he’s angled his body back to give you room.

“I’m helping,” you hiss through your teeth, seriously starting to consider just cutting the damn bra off. If you hadn’t spent so much money on it, and it wasn’t almost brand new, you probably would. “If this goddamn stupid clasp would just—” 

You want to cry as Billy pulls his hands away, that perfect touch that you’ve been missing and dreaming about for months suddenly gone as Billy takes a few steps back and lets his gaze drag over you slowly. “Well, if you’re going to do that, go a little slower,” Billy says, letting his gaze linger on his favorite parts of you as he speaks and you feel your skin start to flush at the way he’s looking at you. “Put on a show for me.”

You’re torn between feeling self-conscious and your own sudden fascination with the idea. You’re not sure you want to put on a show. You’re not sure you’re that comfortable with the way you look or the way you feel. But then there’s Billy standing there, watching you, and you haven’t seen him in so long, and he’s looking at you like you’re the picture of perfection. Somehow, stripping for Billy doesn’t seem that bad. It even seems a little exciting, if only you could get your bra strap undone.

Giving up, you decide to just try and maneuver it over your head, grabbing at the fabric under your arms and tugging. You can’t imagine that it really looks sexy as you manage to get it over your head, somehow keeping it from tangling up in your hair, but Billy’s eyes are wide and dark with lust as he watches you. You drop the bra to the floor, caught up in the look that Billy is giving you, feeling chilly and vulnerable with your top half exposed. You don’t make another move until Billy meets your eyes again, waiting for that extra rush of confidence that you always find there as his desire spurs you on. Your hands reach for your jeans, fingers almost clumsy as they work the button and the zipper before you start to tug at the waist. You’re finally starting to find your stride when you push your pants down slowly, keeping your eyes on Billy as you bend at the waist to lower them enough that you can just kick them to the side. 

If you were with anyone else, you think, you’d probably be reaching to cover yourself. You’d want to hide. But with Billy, you feel powerful like this, you realize. With Billy, you have the confidence and the courage to really put on a show, letting your hands move appreciatively over your own body before you even go near your panties. You watch Billy’s body go still, his breaths hard and sharp as his nostrils flare at the sight of you tracing your hands over your stomach, curving over your waist and hips and teasing at the top of your panties as though you’re about to pull them down. Instead, your fingers graze over the edge of the edge, following the lines at the curve of your thighs that lead inward as Billy watches, not even blinking. You purposely pause, as if you’ve lost interest in the whole scenario and you’re not going to continue at all, fascinated when Billy’s breath catches at the show ending.

Now you know why Billy enjoys teasing you so much, you think. Seeing him like this, transfixed by the sight of you stripping for him, watching the way his eyes drink you in as his cock bulges in the crotch of his pants. He’s using all his self-control to keep from touching you. You understand the appeal of it, you think. It’s a strange kind of power to know you can tease Billy, to make him impatient and frustrated. More than that, you realize, it’s just plain fun to find that part of yourself and to be able to share it with Billy, knowing that he’ll accept it and even appreciate it.

Billy’s eyes never leave you as you touch yourself, fingers teasing at the damp crotch of your panties. He forces himself to take a long, steadying breath in, aware of the way his cock is pressing against his pants and how badly—how _very_ badly—he wants to bury it inside you and take you as hard as he can right there. “You’ve learned a few new tricks while I was away.”

You hadn’t really. Billy just seems to bring out this side of you and standing there with him, you really can’t complain. You’re enjoying it just as much as Billy is, your pussy growing wet at the way Billy keeps staring at you, at the sight of him standing there and licking his lips as his eyes move from the damp crotch of your panties and your hand there, to the your stomach as you force yourself to take steady breaths, to the curves of your breasts and your hard nipples, to your face as you watch him and almost pleasure yourself. You love every second of it just as much as Billy does. “Like I said, your other girlfriend and I got very close. She showed me a few things.” 

Billy’s grin then is predatory, humor mixed with a hungry desire that makes you have to fight to keep moving and not just be eaten up by that gaze. “You’re not done yet, though.” 

Billy can’t keep the back and forth going much longer, all the baiting little comments about his other girlfriends and the foreplay. He’s having trouble keeping his mind focused enough to register what you’re saying when you tease him. He clenches a hand closed slowly, opening it and closing it again in a subtle motion that’s meant to give his mind something to keep working on while he watches you so he remembers that he even _has_ self-control. His throat is dry when you finger the waistband of your panties, moving them down teasingly and pausing once, then twice, to draw it out for him. You step out of them and kick them to the side, body fully exposed for him to see, and for a second it knocks the wind out of Billy. He has to remind himself to breathe again as he gets his first look at you outside of his dreams, realizing now that every imagining of you, every memory he’d thought he’d had of you, had been inaccurate.

No, it couldn’t even come close to capturing the way you really look. It was nothing compared to the way you really responded to him, the way you leave him in awe that you’re here with him, sharing this moment with him, _wanting_ to be with him. The sight of you there is better than anything he thought up while he was away. “You’re beautiful.”

That’s the funny part of it, you think to yourself. You _feel_ beautiful.

“I really did miss you, you know.” You don’t realize that you’re saying it until it’s already been said, but it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t take it back for anything.

The dark look in Billy’s eyes gives way to something else when you say it—that little bit of vulnerability that he tries so hard to hide from the world. How many people has Billy ever truly let in? The way he’s standing there, looking at you, that little hint of some deep emotion that Billy tries his best to hide almost as quickly as you see it there, you can’t imagine there have been many people Billy has trusted that much.

Idly, it occurs to you to wonder if there’s ever really been anyone at all.

Billy wants to say something—he _needs_ to say something to you. It’s the thought that’s been nagging at the back of his mind for months now. Words that he’s always either avoided or flat-out didn’t believe in. He wants to say it, he needs to say it. He doesn’t quite know how to make the words come out.

He doesn’t quite know how to truly love you. 

Even if he does, completely.

Billy’s movements almost feel mechanical as he finally moves to close the distance between you two, his legs feeling unsteady with each step. You don’t try to hide from him as he leans in and kisses you, rough and demanding as your arms go around his neck and you fully respond to the kiss. You moan against his mouth as his hands start to move over you, beginning to fulfill your earlier wishes that he would touch you everywhere. You only break the kiss to catch your breath when you feel his fingers move between your legs, parting the folds of your pussy and plunging inside you in an uncontrolled motion that shows just how far gone Billy actually is. You hold onto Billy for support while he touches you, not sure that you trust your legs to keep you up. 

But Billy doesn’t stay that way for long. He can’t. He tries—God, does he try—but it’s been so long and he’s so hard after watching you, he has to pull away. You grip the back of the couch for support as you watch Billy go for the zipper of his pants, his hands a frenzy of movement. You’ve never seen him so desperate before, tugging at the button and pulling at the zipper as if he _has_ to get out of his pants _right fucking now_. You watch him strip his pants and boxers off, not caring what happens to them as he focuses again entirely on you. His mouth claims yours, any control he had now long gone as he bruises your lips with his own, the force of the kiss pushing you back into the couch. You can barely breathe between the pressure of his mouth on yours, his touch rough and hurried. The both of you have to pause to calm down enough to keep going, Billy’s forehead propped against yours as he gazes down at you for the longest moment of his life.

_Say it._

You don’t protest when you feel Billy’s hands at your waist, gripping you tightly as he starts to turn you around. You willingly shift to face the back of the couch, nails digging into the cushion as you lean forward at Billy’s hand grazing over your spine slowly, back arching where he’s touching you. He reaches down, stroking one hand over his cock as he positions himself behind you and guides it over the folds of your pussy in a stroke that’s steadier than Billy feels. It’s all you can do to hold onto the couch for support, trying to outlast every slow move of Billy behind you while you wait for what you really want, the thing you’ve been craving for months.

You gasp in relief when you feel Billy push his cock inside you, a long stroke that rocks your body forward as you arch your back as much as possible, opening your legs as wide as you can to give Billy access. It’s almost the same as the day you realized that Billy was leaving and that he would really be in danger—each push against you hard and hurried, all thoughts of restraint long gone. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You don’t want Billy to hold back right now. You don’t want him to be gentle. You want him to pound his hips into yours, to feel his cock fully sheathed inside you as you nearly tear the couch cushions where your fingers are scraping against the fabric. You want to hear him grunt and moan with each heavy stroke, to know that he’s as lost to this moment between you two as you are. You want him to ruin you, hands groping for any part of you that he can reach as he drives into you. 

You want Billy to belong to you again, and you want to belong to him. Finally. After the long months that you’ve spent apart, waiting and wondering and hoping that he would be safe. You want this moment, this desperate moment, to belong to the two of you as your bodies come together and remember what it’s like to be touched and pleasured by the one person who can always bring it to the brink of madness and oblivion.

_Say it_ . _Say it. Say it._

You don’t even have the strength to properly say Billy’s name as the first realization of pleasure creeps in, your legs already shaking when you feel your body quickly building to that impossible peak. _Billy_. It comes out in a gasp, breathy and barely audible as you ride out the orgasm and Billy is merciless behind you. Your back is almost straight over the top of the couch while you half-moan, half-cry at the orgasm claiming you and Billy’s swift, hard movements behind you, growing ever more desperate with each stroke inside of you. You think you might not make it, you might not be able to stay standing, as Billy’s thrusts become harder and more erratic, his hands digging into your skin wherever he finds purchase to hold onto you.

_Say it. Say it. Say it._

Every thrust brings with it another chant in Billy’s mind, another hopeless command to break through the barrier that he seems unable to pass. _Say it. Say it. Say it_ . He’s trying to do it. He wants to do it. He wants to give you that, to have that with you. He pushes harder and harder, the sound of your cries mixing with the slapping of your hips against his in his ears. He’s vaguely aware of how hard he’s holding you, that he’s going to leave bruises, that he’s being too rough. _Say it. Say it. Say it_ . He gets closer and closer, tears pricking his eyes as he gazes down at your back. _Say it. Say it. Say it._

He can’t. His body stills against you, heat filling you as you feel his cum inside you and he nearly falls on top of you on the top. Cum runs down your leg as he pulls out abruptly and his face rests over your spine, lips parted as he pants. 

_Say it, Billy. Just fucking say it_ . _Why can’t you say it?_

“ _Billy._ ” 

It’s stupid to cry, Billy thinks. It’s stupid. Stupid. So fucking stupid. He’s not going to do it. He won’t. He grits his teeth, digs his toes into the carpet, tries to force the tears back. He hates himself in that moment for not being able to say it—why is it so hard?

_I love you._

It’s simple. Three little words. He wants to have with you. 

“I missed you, too,” he whispers against your back, forcing himself to take slow, even breaths and push his own disappointment and hatred of himself back. He’s not going to cry. He can’t.

Even if the next words from you may be the ones that destroy him completely. “I love you, Billy Russo.”


	3. Chapter 3

Billy is selfish and hopelessly broken. He knows this with a certainty that’s woven into his soul, the absolute knowledge of it so defining and complete that it’s utterly inescapable. He’s known since he was a child, a lonely, pathetic kid stuck in a group home, who no one gave a shit about. Oh, there were times when he doubted it—when someone was kind to him or he really believed that a foster parent cared enough to try and adopt him, or when someone  _ saw  _ what was happening to him. There was a time when someone merely seeing how he was struggling made all the difference to him, as if he really believed in that moment that there was goodness in the world and everything really would be okay, and all that person had to do was say something. Intervene. Save him. Love him.

Be there.

Not beat him down—that was all he wanted. Someone who didn’t beat him and hurt him and use him, and treat him like shit. Or worse than shit.

_ You know, Billy, you’re kind of pretty. _

Not put him in the hospital for something so simple as defending himself.

Pathetic.

People are disappointing at best. No one had ever stepped in for Billy, no one had ever spoken up for him, no one had ever cared. Billy was selfish because he had to be, because you didn’t survive in this world with no one looking out for you if you weren’t looking out for yourself. If someone tries to hurt you, you have to hurt them first—and you have to hurt them badly enough that they won’t come back. If you happen to find something good, something you want, something you need, cherish it. Hold onto it. Cling to it for dear life, no matter what it costs you or anyone else. Don’t let it go.

Don’t it let go. Don’t let someone hurt you.

None of it even makes sense anymore, all of his instincts warring inside of him in an endless, vicious battle that’s slowly destroying him. He needs to save himself. He needs to protect himself.

He can’t let you go.

_ I love you, Billy Russo. _

You sat on his waist, straddling his hips while his hands reached up to hold onto you. He couldn’t stop fighting with himself each time he touched you now, trying not to hold onto too tight for fear that he’ll hurt you but too terrified to let go. If he lets go, then he might lose you. You’ll disappear and he’ll be alone again, and he loves you too much to lose you, but he doesn’t know how to love you, and he keeps going around and around as he tries to figure it all out. Hands clenched against your hips, fingers digging into skin as you ride his cock, flexing your back and hips with each movement above him, expertly positioning yourself to grind him inside of you in a way that made you and Billy moan. Hands unclenched as you leaned forward and gazed down at him, palms open on his chest as you leaned against him for stability with each rock of your hips, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as Billy watches you. 

_ I love you, Billy Russo. _

Billy loved watching you like that. He loved looking down at where your hips met his, seeing his cock plunge inside you. He liked the way your body shifted over him, the bounce of your breasts with every move of your body, the way your stomach fluttered when you moved in exactly the right position to pleasure yourself. He loved your mouth, the way your lips pulled and slackened as you moaned and hummed and gasped above him. He could have spent the whole day like that with you, he thinks.

He should have. He should have stayed with you. He should have held onto you. He should have kept you in that bed using whatever means necessary, whatever he had to do, to keep you with him.

“I know that we’re having a good time,” you paused to smile and kiss his chest when you fell back onto the bed with him afterward. “But I feel a little bad blowing off Frank and Maria.”

Billy let his arm wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, fighting the urge to hold onto you as hard as he could. He wasn’t going to let you go to Frank and Maria. Not that day. It wasn’t safe for you to be there. He wouldn’t risk it. “You feel bad?” He tilted his head up to look at you, bangs falling into his face and brushing over his forehead as his hand smoothed small circles over your back. “After all that? Damn, Y/N. Those are some high standards, right there. I was working really hard, too.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed up from his chest to mock glare at him, trying not to be affected by the way he was looking at you. “You worked hard? I did all the work just now. Did you not see me on top of you?”

He saw you. Billy couldn’t  _ stop _ looking at you. He never wanted to stop seeing you like that with him. “You wiggled around a little,” Billy said dismissively, waving his free hand as if your contribution to sex were something small and inconsequential. “I did the  _ hard  _ part.”

You snorted at the way Billy emphasized the word  _ hard _ , driving his hips upward a little and nearly displacing you from where you were half propped against him. You’d noticed the way his arm around you tightened to keep you from rolling away from him, pulling you right against him. “I’m not sure having a dick is really that much of a contribution when it comes to sex.”

“What if it’s a really big dick?” 

Your eyebrows shot up in a look of mock surprise, then lowered as you pretended to consider the question. “Maybe,” you said in a slow, thoughtful voice. You looked down Billy’s waist, one hand moving to tease the base of his cock and smooth over his balls. Billy grunted and bucked his hips to follow your touch as your hand pumped down his cock. “But your dick’s not that big.” 

Billy had hissed at the comment and the way your fingers teased at the tip of his cock, purposely teasing him so you could watch the way Billy’s eyes darken as he responds to you. “It’s big enough for you.” 

He meant it to be part of the banter, to make it something light and to play with you. Instead, it came out as a growl—in no small part because your hand had closed fully around him and was moving over him, dragging up and down the length of him as you gazed at him with mischievous eyes.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied lightly, nearly laughing at the strained look on Billy’s face as he tried not to let you see how you were getting to him. “Let me see.”

Billy almost stopped you before you could move down on him, shifting on the bed to take his cock in your mouth and run your tongue over the length of him, but he wasn’t fast enough. His plan had been to keep you busy all day, not for you to keep him busy and distracted. He’d nearly lost his breath when you pulled away him, a string of saliva on your lips as you moved lower down the shaft and left little teasing kisses there, dragging your tongue over him and letting your teeth just graze him as you worked toward his balls. The sounds you were making were obscene as you lapped and sucked at his cock, taking as much of him as you could in your mouth and angling yourself to gaze up at him, but Billy didn’t hear them. He could barely stay focused enough to keep his eyes on you, tilting his head to look at you and eventually giving up as he leaned back on the bed and felt his eyes drift closed. He was lost in the way you were touching him, sucking him off in a slow, teasing sort of way that was so frustratingly similar to what Billy had done with you more times than he could count that Billy wanted to scream.

You did it on purpose. You didn’t want it to go too quickly, didn’t want to stop teasing Billy. It was too fun, knowing that you could do this and that you could drive Billy to the edge of insanity as you paused to catch your breath, mouth and chin sloppy and wet, letting your breath brush against his wet cock and watching his shiver at the sensation. You knew he was about to try and stop you, that he didn’t take as well to being teased as he did to doing the teasing, when you quickly descended on him again. You used one hand to touch the length of Billy that couldn’t fit in your mouth, using your own spit that dribbled down his cock as you pump your hand over him. You didn’t notice Billy’s hands coming to tangle in your hair, pulling at your scalp as he gasped and moaned and tried to decide between pulling you away and letting you keep going. You didn’t know the inner battle that Billy was fighting between staying in control and wanting to let go of it, to let you in completely in a way that he’d never let anyone else in before.

You just knew that you wanted to taste him and that each second you did, it drove Billy closer and closer to the edge. You wanted to push him over that edge. You wanted him to cum in your mouth, to let that sweet feeling of triumph wash over you, and then to watch him losing his mind as you licked his cock clean afterward. You wanted to know what it would be like, and you wanted to see Billy’s reaction when you did.

If Billy had known then that all it would’ve taken to keep you there was to let  _ you  _ be the one to ravish  _ him _ , to give up all his control and to let you in like that, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought, would have accepted it as perfect and necessary because it was what he wanted, anyway. He wanted you. He still wants you. He’ll always want you. Nothing will ever change how he wants you.

He thought it was safe to leave. He just needed to step out for a minute. He needed to get some air. He had to take some time to clear his head and try to focus on what was happening rather than his own instincts warring against each other as he tried not to touch you and desperately wanted to at the same time. He just needed a walk down the street—a quick one. He’d buy a pack of cigarettes or a soda, or he’d bring you back a coffee and a pastry from that place that you liked, or he’d do something, anything, it didn’t matter. He just needed a walk and he thought you were safe, asleep in the bed, totally spent from the morning you’d shared with him. You couldn’t possibly get into trouble now.

He’d thought you were safe.

He didn’t know that Maria would call you and the call would wake you up. “Hello?”

“Oh, God, Y/N, you’ve got to get here.”

You popped up in bed, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself as you looked around the room in a haze from sleep and sex, and wondered where Billy had gone. You swallowed as your throat and mouth felt dry and sighed into your cell phone. “Maria? What is it? Is everything okay?”

You heard Maria giggle as Frank said something in the background and Lisa and Frank Jr. screamed and laughed. “It’s okay. It’s okay, and that’s why I need you.” You suddenly knew where the conversation was going when you heard Frank’s husky laugh in the background and Maria whispered into the phone. “I need you to take the kids for a while.”

You’d grinned and shaken your head, knowing what Maria was planning. You and Billy had already taken the kids a few times to give Maria and Frank some time alone. You’d always loved it, getting to spend time with Lisa and Frank Jr. and getting to see Uncle Billy in action. 

Where was Billy? You let the sheet fall and you edged your way down the bed, looking around for him and frowning when you didn’t see him. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You climbed out of the bed and tiptoed around the apartment, still conscious of your nudity, looking for Billy.

“Oh, Y/N, please, please,  _ please— _ ”

You paused when you heard Frank coming close to Maria, calling into the phone next to her. “Please, Y/N, please, please—”

Maria laughed into the phone and you couldn’t help but smile at your friends. “ _ Frank _ .” He said something to Maria in a low voice, quiet enough that you couldn’t make it out, and you felt yourself blush at the little purr Maria made into the phone. “Oh, Y/N, please—I would really owe you. Please, please.”

You couldn’t say no—you just couldn’t. Maria was pleading with you and you could hear them all laughing in the background, and you couldn’t find Billy. You sighed, feeling too naked in the quiet living room, and told Maria yes. Then you’d gotten dressed quickly and resolved to call Billy on the way there.

Billy has walked into war zones. He walked the gauntlet with Frank, knowing his fellow marines and the friends he’d made were going to beat the shit out of him. He was abused, neglected, nearly raped as a child. He’s seen men be tortured. He’s done terrible, terrible things in the name of God and country, and now his own selfish greed. But sitting in the hospital waiting room, your blood on his hands and his shirt and his face, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified in his entire life as when you called him and told him what you were doing.

“What are you talking about?” He recognized the panic in his voice when he talked to you on the phone. He could feel the rush of adrenaline when you said you were going to meet Frank and Maria. He’d been standing by a tiny convenience store a few blocks from the apartment, smoking a cigarette, when you’d called.

“I’m going to meet up with Frank and Maria,” you repeated as you walked, holding your cell phone to your ear. You made good time as you walked, which wasn’t surprising since you know the city like the back of your hand. 

“Y/N,” Billy fought to keep his voice controlled as he dropped his cigarette and stamped it out, gazing up and down the street and trying to figure out the best way to reach you before you made it there. “We said weren’t going out today.”

You’d snorted into the phone. “ _ You _ weren’t even there when I woke up.” Billy heard you pause for a few seconds. “Where are you, anyway?”

Billy knew then that he shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have left. How could he leave?

“Look, I know we wanted to spend today together, but it’s only for a few hours so Frank and Maria can—” You had to pause to keep yourself from laughing as you’d remembered the sound of Maria purring into the phone. “Have some alone time. And then we’ll spend the rest of the night together.  _ Maybe _ we’ll finally try that thing with the whipped cream we’ve been talking about.”

You were teasing him. Billy felt sick. You had teased him and you had no idea what you were walking into.

He sits in the waiting room, his head in his hands, waiting for news. God, Billy hates waiting. He’s not built for it. He knows how to do it, he’s spent plenty of his life learning to bide his time and to wait. He did more than enough of it in the military, especially when he was still in training. He’s better in action, though, when he has a mission and a plan, and there’s something he can do. Waiting is hell.

_ I love you, Billy Russo. _

He can still hear the sounds of screaming. He’d charged through the sidewalks and streets, shoved people out of the way, ran the fastest he’d ever run in his life. Even when he was fighting to survive as a dumb kid, abandoned by his mother and with no one to care for him, even when he was at war, he’d never run so fast or fought so hard. He had to get there, he had to get to you.

He heard it first—the screaming as the shots rang out. He’d rushed forward, lungs aching from the effort as he tried to remind himself to breathe. People were running. He had to find you.  _ He had to find you. _

You were trying to shield Lisa and Frank Jr. You were on the ground. There was blood everywhere. He rushed forward, trying to get to you. He had to stop the bleeding. He had to get help. He couldn’t bring himself to look for Frank and Maria, couldn’t look at Lisa and Frank Jr. He had done this—it was his fault. Billy Russo knew in that moment that he was a monster and that he had to get to you because you were the only good thing about him. You needed to live.

Please, God, Billy Russo could die. He could be shot, he could be tortured and murdered, or arrested and spend the rest of his life in a cold, dark cell somewhere and be completely and utterly forgotten by the world, but you couldn’t die.

The blood is dry on his hands. It coats the underside of his fingernails, sits in the little cracks and crevices of his skin. He can smell it on himself as the blood on his shirt dries and gets crusty, his always perfectly smoothed back hair loose and stuck with dried blood.

“Billy,” your voice was low, breathing and speaking a struggle. You’d reached a blood covered hand out to touch him, cupping his cheek and smoothing a hand through his hair. You loved his hair whenever he smoothed it back with pomade that way. You loved him, completely and unconditionally. You wanted Billy to hold you. If you died, you wanted to be in his arms.

You can’t die, Billy thinks. You can’t. He’s talked to the police. He’s told his lies. He was so broken up over what happened to you, waiting for news of your surgery, terrified that you wouldn’t make it, that the police barely looked at him twice. It didn’t matter if they figured it out, he’d thought, as long they did it after he knew you were okay.

He paces the hallway, he tries to keep himself calm, he tries not to panic. He wants to kill someone. He wants to hunt down the shooter, the one who fucked up his only job so badly and kill him with his bare hands. He wants to put an end to this. How did it get this far out of control? How did he get this attached to you? What was he doing? It’s pathetic and weak, and his love for you is only going to get you killed sooner or later. How could he do this to you?

Billy Russo. Billy the Beaut.  _ You know, Billy, you’re kind of pretty. _ Billy Russo, the Orphan. Billy Russo, the Best Friend. Uncle Billy. Billy Russo, the Lover.  _ I love you, Billy.  _ Billy Russo, the Monster. 

Protect yourself. No one else is going to look after you. Hold onto the things you care about and don’t let anyone take them from you. Make the deal, take the money. Let her go, she’s a weakness and you need to look after yourself. Don’t let her go, don’t let her leave, don’t lose something you love when you have it. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.

People are disappointing at best. Billy knows this well—he’s disappointing himself. He’s disappointing you. Pathetic, stupid, little Billy Russo. What a massive, colossal fuck up.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

He doesn’t notice when he slams his fist into the wall. He doesn’t feel it when his skin cracks and splits from the impact. He doesn’t recognize the damage, the bruises that he surely makes and the stitches that he needs to keep the cuts closed. He hits the wall and keeps on hitting, slamming that fist again and again. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. It doesn’t matter how much damage it does. It doesn’t matter when they pull him back. Billy can’t stop. He just can’t. He doesn’t know how to let go of you and he doesn’t know how to hold on, and he doesn’t know how to stop. He spends the longest night of his life in that hallway, screaming and attacking that wall until his hands and his lungs give out, and all he can do is wait and know that he’s destroyed everything he cared about.

He let Frank and his family die. He did everything short of pulling the trigger himself. 

He let you get caught in the crossfire.

He should not have left you alone.

He should have left you a long time ago.

Billy Russo, the Monster. That’s what he is now. That’s all that’s left of him.

He feels half-dead when the doctor comes to find him. His hands are getting cleaned up and bandaged, one partially immobilized to keep the stitches from tearing. No one says a word about the damage he caused. No one has the heart. All they know is that he’s lost his best friends and the woman he loves might not make it. They don’t know the truth of it or see the self-loathing in his eyes. 

You’re safe now and you’re going to make it. It’ll be a long recovery. You’re safe and you’re going to make it.

You’re alive and he has to protect himself.

You’re alive and he loves you and he has to keep you safe.

You’re alive and Billy Russo has to break your heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated as I live for external validation.
> 
> And cookies.
> 
> Leave me a Billy Russo on tumblr @artemisausten ;P


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